In Session
by fangirlu
Summary: John and Joss pose as a couple whose marriage is on the rocks in order to investigate a number. In the process of undergoing marriage counseling, they discover some truths about themselves and each other that finally gets them on the same page. John/Joss
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: ** This is my contribution to the Valentine's Day fic exchange that was due a long time ago. Unfortunately, my muse has no clue what a calendar is, so I'm just now getting it done. Also, it doesn't seem to know what a one-shot is either, because this will be at least a few chapters more. This story is for SWWoman. Sorry for the wait. *hugs* The prompt was that a number helps Joss and John realize their feelings for one another.

Also, thanks to my beta PiscesChikk for the encouragement.

**Disclaimer: ** The only thing that's mine are the crazy situations I get the characters into.

* * *

"No." Joss folded her arms across her chest and sat back in her chair, leveling her best glare across the polished oak tabletop at the two men sitting across from her.

Harold Finch winced slightly, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses in the way that she'd come to learn was a bit of a nervous tic. His eyes looked huge under the yellow pool of light spilling across the table from the tasteful Tiffany lamp suspended above them. They flicked toward his employee and back so quickly that if she hadn't been studying him as intently as she had been, she would've missed it. But she'd caught the brief gesture, and her gaze immediately slid sideways, taking in the dour countenance of the man she'd suspected was getting the answer he'd been expecting even though it was clear he didn't like it.

John was sitting stone-faced, forearms propped on the table in front of him, trying his best to look as if he didn't care either way. The glittering lights of the city were spread out behind him like a living tapestry, the nighttime backdrop provided by the penthouse's floor-to-ceiling windows making him appear larger-than-life. The broadness of his shoulders. The rich ebony of his expensive suit. The strands of silver glinting in his short, dark hair. Anyone who didn't know him would think he didn't have a care in the world. That the conversation taking place was of no consequence to him.

But Joss knew better. She knew _him_ better.

Although his face was a blank slate, his busy hands gave him away. His fingers were currently laying waste to an errant napkin, the textured paper slowly morphing from a neat square to a mess of white, uneven strips. As her eyes moved between hands and his stoic face, she honestly wasn't sure he even realized what he was doing. Or why.

Shaw did however, if the amused snort coming from the far end of the table was any indication. She glanced over at the brunette, who'd taken a pause from cleaning her gun to watch Reese methodically destroy the napkin with almost maniacal glee. As if she sensed she was being watched herself, Shaw cut her eyes to Joss and flashed a knowing smile before shaking her head and returning to her second favorite pastime after eating.

"Detective Carter," Finch implored, "we wouldn't ask you to do this unless it was imperative."

She could feel her muscles tense at the use of the honorific, but forced herself to relax. It had been more than three months since she'd been busted down to a patrol officer, but in all that time the billionaire had yet to address her by her new title.

Whether it was because he was just being openly defiant of the change or because he felt guilty that the team's rather prominent absence in her life since the Riker's fiasco had precipitated her downfall, she wasn't sure. But since she figured her prior title sounded a whole lot better rolling off his cultured tongue than her current one, she'd never made a big deal out of it.

"Why me?" she asked, unfolding her hands and laying them flat on the cool tabletop. She jerked her head to the right. "Why can't Shaw do it?"

She couldn't understand why they needed her so badly. Now that they had the younger woman on the team full-time, she'd found that they hadn't required her help as much as they had in the past. Which had been both a blessing and a curse. While it was true that less time spent with the team meant less chance for exposure, it also meant the less she saw of John. She still wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

"Not in this lifetime," Shaw piped up without bothering to lift her head from the barrel of the Nano she was meticulously cleaning. "The day I pretend to be Reese's wife is the day you can lock me up in the nuthouse with Root."

Barely resisting the urge to roll her eyes in exasperation, Joss sighed heavily. "Why can't Zoe Morgan do it then?" She turned to John, who gazed steadily back at her, his long fingers still giving the napkin a hard time. "It's not like she doesn't have experience playing your wife. Right?"

Another loud snort floated toward them, but Joss ignored it. She could barely hold back a triumphant smirk as John blinked at her slowly in his version of being highly taken aback. It had always bothered her that he'd asked the fixer to go undercover as his wife last year instead of her, but she'd never admit it out loud. She could barely admit it to herself.

Still, she was surprised that he was asking her to accompany him on this particular assignment instead of the other woman. It wasn't like they'd been on the best of terms lately.

After months of silence following his nearly fatal run-in with his psycho ex-partner, they'd only just begun to reconnect. She still hadn't confided in him how shitty it felt to have been framed by her fellow officers and subsequently demoted, and he still hadn't talked to her about nearly being blown to smithereens, but she figured they'd do it when they were ready. If ever. They still hadn't quite gotten back to the easy banter and playful rapport they used to share either, but she highly doubted shoving them into an undercover case together was the way to do it. Especially one that necessitated a certain amount of intimacy she wasn't sure they'd be able to convincingly pull off.

Finch shifted in his seat, his lips flattening with discomfort at the unspoken implication while John frowned at her in response.

Finally giving up on his mission to obliterate the napkin, he abandoned it and sat back in his chair. His blue eyes were serious as he looked at her. "I didn't ask Zoe, because I didn't _want_ to ask Zoe, Carter."

"True." They all shifted their attention to Shaw as she finally looked up from her task, carefully laying the dismantled barrel down on the soft white cloth spread out in front of her. Expertly twirling the long handle of the bore brush around her slim fingers, she tilted her head in Reese's direction and grinned. "Your name is the first one that popped out of his mouth, Carter. Zoe Morgan wasn't even a glimmer in his beady little eyes."

"Shut up, Shaw."

Instead of being insulted by John's quiet, menacing demand, the younger woman's grin only grew wider. Her dark eyes danced with delight at the realization that she'd gotten under his skin. "Just sayin', Carter. You're the one he wanted from the very beginning."

The words hung heavily in the air for a long moment, their double meaning not lost on anyone in the room. Joss could feel a blast of heat rush across her face and out of the corner of her eye she could see the tips of John's ears beginning to turn a delicate shade of rose.

"Shaw," he growled sitting up straighter, but before Shaw had a chance to respond, Finch stepped onto the battlefield with a small wave of his hand.

The two glowering ex-operatives reluctantly retreated to their corners, but the uneasy truce didn't erase the truth bomb Shaw had just deliberately lobbed into the room. And now that it was sitting out there, Joss knew it would be just a matter of time before it exploded. The real question was what the fallout would be once it did.

"I understand your reservations, Detective Carter," Finch said in a measured tone she was certain was meant to try to wrest back control of the conversation. "It's possible that this particular case will require quite a bit of your time."

"So where is all this time supposed to come from, Finch? I do have a day job you know." She glanced down at her black uniform, trying to keep the disdain off her face and out of her voice. She was pretty sure she'd failed at both.

"That's all been taken care of." He nervously fingered the edge of manila folder that until now had been sitting ignored on the table in front of him.

She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. "How?"

"I've…" The small man stopped and cleared his throat before continuing, "I've changed the NYPD's database to give you the next few days off. Combined with the three days off you already had scheduled, a week should be sufficient."

Despite already knowing what his answer was going to be, Joss pulled in a deep breath, closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. She wanted to lecture him about tampering with the department's records, but given that she'd deleted John's fingerprints out of the system, she had no room to talk. But she _did_ have the right to be irritated at Finch's presumptuousness.

"Well, you were all pretty sure of yourselves, weren't you?" She let her eyes roam around the table accusingly.

Shaw held up her hands. "Hey...don't lump me in with those two idiots. I told them you'd be pissed. But, as usual, they didn't listen to me."

"It was solely my decision, Detective," Finch assured her quickly. "It would just be a matter of changing it back if you decide not to help us."

_If you decide not to help us._

Joss couldn't help the grudging admiration she felt at the computer genius' knack for persuasion. It was nearly as good as John's, she thought, watching him with interest as he regarded her silently. But she really wasn't all that surprised. The man hadn't amassed his vast fortune by always playing fair, after all.

"Fine, Finch," she said, ignoring Shaw's short bark of laughter at her acquiescence. She didn't miss the brief flash of relief that crossed John's face as she reached for the folder the older man had slid across the table towards her. "Give me the run down."

"Dr. Fiona Lanier, Ph.D." Finch opened the folder to reveal a picture of an attractive, middle-aged white woman. "Marriage counselor to the rich and infamous. Fifty-two years old, married, no children. Her closest run-ins with the law are a couple of parking tickets, promptly paid."

Mentally cringing at the explicit invasion of privacy, Joss picked up the photograph and studied it carefully. The doctor's ash-blonde hair was cut into a short, stylish bob that perfectly framed her round face. Her large smile and bright green eyes were soft and kind, perfect attributes for someone who needed to engender immediate trust and confidence with their clients. She put the photo aside and began to flip through the contents of the file. As usual, Finch had done his homework. The folder was chock full of journal articles Dr. Lanier had authored, local magazine and newspaper write-ups, slick programs for past seminars she'd headlined, credit card and bank statements, cell phone records, and any other piece of information he shouldn't have access to but somehow did. She shuddered to think of what the team had dug up on her when her number had come up a few years back.

"Seems like a decent person. Not that that means anything."

The man sitting across from her was a perfect example. Unbidden, her gaze drifted over to John, her eyes taking in his expensive suit and close-cropped salt and pepper hair. There were times when she still had trouble reconciling the dirty, disheveled bum she'd first met with the handsome, well-dressed man she'd come to know so well.

As if he could feel her watching him, he lifted his eyes from the seminar pamphlet he'd been perusing. Their gazes collided and held for a long moment before she managed to wrestle her attention away from him. Not that it helped much since she could feel the weight of his stare scorching the side of her face.

"Yes," Finch was saying as she turned back to him. He removed his glasses, pulled a cloth from the inside of his tweed blazer and held the delicate wire rims lightly between his fingers as he began to wipe the lenses. "She regularly donates to charity, performs pro bono work at local women's shelters once a month and was even a member of the Peace Corps for a short while after she finished her undergraduate studies. From the research I've done so far, she appears to be clean."

Another snort floated from the end of the table. "No one's that clean, Finch," Shaw inserted, her head still bent over her task. "Everyone's got a skeleton or ten in their closet. Just a matter of finding it."

"Sam's right. Everyone has something they want to hide." Joss raised a knowing eyebrow at the older man. "Just look at you."

"Touché, Detective."

"Does she have any unhappy patients? Knowing the deepest, darkest secrets of the wealthy and powerful might not be such a good thing."

"I've already started looking into her past and current patients." Finch pocketed the small white square and slipped his glasses back onto his nose. "The list is extensive, so it will take some time."

"What about the husband?" She rooted through the various items and picked out a newspaper clipping. It was a short blurb about a recent charity event for breast cancer research. The accompanying picture showed Dr. Lanier and a tall, handsome man dressed to the nines and smiling dazzlingly at the camera. "This him?"

Finch nodded. "Dr. Richard Lanier, Psy.D. He and his wife run their practice together in downtown Manhattan. As you can imagine, it's proven very lucrative for them."

She picked up an off-white business card and gave a low whistle at the embossed address. "With an office on Park Avenue, they certainly don't seem to be hurting for cash."

"That's an understatement. Between their thriving practice, fees from numerous seminars and speaking engagements, and aggressive investing they're pulling in seven figures a year. And that's not counting the rather large nest egg they have stashed in a bank account in the Cayman Islands."

"Good motive."

"It's certainly a possibility."

"Or _she_ could be the bad guy." Joss' gaze snapped to John, surprised that he'd finally decided to join in the conversation. He reached out and slid the picture of the good doctor toward him and lifted it. His eyes roamed the glossy surface for a moment before he dropped it back onto the table. "Behind every great fortune, there's usually a great crime."

One side of Joss' mouth tipped upward. "Well, aren't you cynical today?"

"I'm cynical every day, Carter. I thought you knew that by now." He smirked back at her, his blue eyes twinkling, and for a moment she could feel that old spark reignite between them. It was brief, but it reminded her with a rush of emotion just how much she'd missed it. How much she'd missed _him_.

"So while Shaw's doing her thing and Finch is doing his, what will we be doing? Trying to get into her inner circle by cozing up to her at a fundraiser? Getting ourselves invited to one of their dinner parties? Something like that?"

"Not exactly."

"What does that mean?" Joss looked from John to Finch then back to John again.

"We'll be taking a more…hands-on approach."

"Hands on," she repeated, not sure she liked the sound of that. She narrowed her eyes, noting that John was putting his CIA training to good use. His face was a vacant mask, giving her absolutely nothing to work with. She reminded herself never to play poker with him. "You mean like looking for spurned lovers?"

"That's Shaw's job." He glanced in the younger woman's direction before finding her eyes again. "While we're dealing with Dr. Lanier directly, she'll be digging into her personal life."

She knew she shouldn't ask, but couldn't help herself. "And I take that to mean a whole bunch of unlawful entry?"

"You said it, not me." Shaw put her Nano back together with impressive speed, then pushed away from the table. With an impatient yank, she pulled the hem of her white tank top down over the waistband of her baggy, washed-out cargos, announced to the room that she was hungry and made a beeline for the kitchen.

Joss watched her go before settling her gaze back on John. "You said we'll be dealing directly with Dr. Lanier. How?"

"Marriage counseling."

She could feel her eyebrows shoot straight into her hairline. "_Marriage_ counseling?"

John looked wholly unconcerned. "What better way to get close to a marriage counselor than with a little counseling?"

"So our fake marriage is such a bad fake marriage that we need counseling?"

"It's our in."

Of course it was. Zoe Morgan got a big house and a happy phony marriage in the suburbs; she got dysfunction. Great.

"The two of you will be undergoing therapy as Mr. and Mrs. John Rooney in a final attempt to salvage your marriage," Finch added before she could say anything else.

"Rooney?"

"Yes, Mr. Reese's investment banker alias."

"What happened to John Warren?"

Finch looked at John then looked quickly away as the younger man shifted a little in his chair. "After the whole Riker's incident, Mr. Reese and I thought it best to retire that persona. Mr. Warren's peers are under the impression that he's relocated to a sunny locale out of the country."

"Makes sense," she said nodding, the mere reminder of that terrible time enough to cast a pall over the table. She put her hands in her lap and balled her hands into tight fists. "Anything else?"

"As you can imagine, it's extremely important that you're both on the same page with regards to the when, where and how of your relationship along with your current marital woes." Finch's large eyes volleyed back and forth between Joss and John, looking more than a little wary. "I'll leave the particulars up to the two of you."

Shaw took that moment to reappear, carrying a plate that held a large sandwich and an even larger pile of potato chips. "I'd love to be a fly on the wall for that conversation." Grinning, she stopped at the head of the table and began to inhale her food without even bothering to retake her seat.

Deciding to use the small pause as an opportunity to make her escape, Joss quickly stood, absently readjusting her utility belt. "I guess I'd better get going. Taylor will be wondering where I am pretty soon."

The men politely followed suit, Finch thanking her profusely for agreeing to help them and John informing her that he'd call her later to set up a meeting to nail down their game plan. Shaw just shot her an amused smirk, a glob of mayonnaise nestled in one corner of her overstuffed mouth.

As she rode the ornate elevator down to the lobby, what she'd just agreed to do suddenly hit her. Being a decoy dressed in tight red leather to catch a possible predator was one thing, but pretending to be John's wife was something else entirely. Even a nearly estranged one. Their relationship was already complicated enough. She wasn't sure if adding another one was the smartest move in the world.

Expelling a long, noisy sigh that did nothing to ease her burgeoning anxiety, she closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall, letting her head fall back against the blond wood.

What the hell had she just gotten herself into?


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Thanks to PiscesChikk for giving this a once-over for me. Also thanks everyone for the reviews, faves and follows! :)

* * *

The restaurant was a lot swankier than she'd expected. Not that Joss had been expecting a dive. But when John had called her this morning to suggest they meet for dinner to discuss their impending nuptials, she certainly hadn't been expecting real silverware and actual ambiance.

From the beginning, their thing had always been meeting at one of the many diners that were sprinkled around the city. Nearly every important milestone in their relationship had been reached at one: their very first meeting, the first time she'd thrown caution to the wind and handed over privileged police information, the first time her trust in him and his mission had been tested. But this new milestone, the first time they'd be officially working undercover together so closely on a case, was getting an upgrade. She couldn't help but wonder what, if anything, it meant.

As she followed the black-clad hostess through the crowded bistro, Joss took in the room. The place was gorgeous. It was classy without the coat of pretentiousness that so many of these establishments often fell victim to. A lofty ceiling painted a pristine, dazzling white soared overhead, and she was pretty sure there were enough crystals in the expensive-looking chandeliers to make several pieces of jewelry for every woman in the room with some left to spare.

Like the city itself, the patrons were a diverse bunch, but there was certainly nothing diverse about their bank accounts. Most of the people here probably made more money in a day than she did in a month, but surprisingly she didn't feel uncomfortable or out of place. No one was giving her a second glance as she crossed the spacious room, and she found herself relaxing more and more with each step.

She also discreetly marked the exits, noting any hallways and alcoves and generally gauging its overall security. She knew that if John had picked this place she needn't worry about any of those things. But like him, she wasn't able to help herself. It was a part of who she was, and with her current investigation into HR and their nefarious activities, the inclination was even more pronounced. And she'd never apologize for it either. That instinct had saved her life more times than she could count. It had also been the sole reason she'd allowed herself to trust John when she should've run in the complete opposite direction.

Given their trajectory, she surmised that the hostess was leading her to a table at the very back of the room. One that was as out of the way as possible while still being in the thick of the action.

She was right.

The small, square table where John was casually watching them approach was tucked into a far corner of the sizable room. All of the exits and patrons were easily visible with just a glance, and the silk-covered wall bracketing them from the back would assure that no one would see John pull his gun if the situation arose. Without even thinking, she nodded in approval. She couldn't have chosen a better position herself.

As they drew closer, he pushed his chair back from the table and stood. She couldn't help but notice how ridiculously handsome he looked. He was wearing the same black suit she'd seen him in hundreds of times, but he'd ditched the standard white shirt for a coal black version that made his blue eyes pop and the silver strands in his dark hair stand out even more than usual.

Joss' footsteps hesitated for a second, and she mentally chastised herself for the lapse. But she hadn't been able to help herself. Because if she didn't know any better, she'd think they were on a date. A _real_ date. Not a couple of friends getting together to discuss business. She was pretty sure that if any of the other patrons were watching them, they'd think the same thing. Knowing John, that was probably the point.

The hostess gave them both a bright smile, informed them their maître d' would be with them shortly to take their orders and quickly headed back to her post.

"So who'd you have to bribe to get a table on such a busy Saturday night?" she said in lieu of a greeting as John rounded the table to push her chair in after she'd taken her seat. It was one of her usual teasing barbs meant to steer them back to their comfort zone. But it was really a play meant to help her regain her shaky equilibrium. The thought of being on a date with him—even a fake one—had thrown her. And his solicitous behavior wasn't helping.

"Lauren."

Placing her black clutch on the white cotton tablecloth beside the glass of ice water John had waiting for her, she eyed him with amusement as he retook the seat across from her. She'd been joking, but clearly he hadn't been. "Lauren?"

"Our lovely hostess."

"You mean Miss Congeniality? She actually allowed herself to be bought?"

He smirked. "It wasn't hard. Most people can usually be swayed when a couple of Benjamin Franklins make an appearance."

Joss knew that better than anyone, but she was too shocked to learn that he'd so nonchalantly dropped a couple of hundred dollars just to get them a table to voice it.

"We could've just eaten at The Lyric, John," she said instead.

"We could have."

"So why didn't we?"

"Didn't want to." When she just continued to stare at him mutely, he sighed and sat forward, resting his forearms on the table. "Because I meant what I said. We haven't gotten to sit down and talk in a while. I figured since it was finally going to happen, we might as well do it in style."

Not sure how to respond to that, Joss picked up her water and took a long sip, eyeing him over the rim. He'd said the same thing to her not that long ago, his low voice just as earnest then as it was now. At the time, she'd just gotten off shift and had been tired and cranky. The last thing she'd wanted to do was go down that road with him, and she still wasn't sure she wanted to. That road was dangerous, filled with all kinds of traps she was hoping like hell to avoid for as long as she could. Falling victim to one was inevitable, but for now, she could at least pretend she had some common sense and a modicum of self-control.

He was staring back at her unabashedly, his face serious but tender as he watched her. Stomach swooping, she mentally cursed her weakness**. **What it was about this man that made it not only impossible for her to say 'no' to him, but made it so difficult for her to control her emotions around him? She should be used to the intense way he looked at her by now; like she was the only important thing in his world.

She supposed she should also be used to feeling like a schoolgirl with a crush around him, but she hadn't quite managed that either.

"Okay?" he questioned, his voice breaking into her thoughts when she still hadn't spoken. That familiar crooked smirk snuck back onto his face, as if he suspected what she'd been thinking and needed to lighten the mood for her sake.

After a small pause, she nodded. "Okay."

Grateful for his attempt at a bit of levity despite the tension swirling between them, Joss settled back against her padded chair and decided that for once, she'd just go with the flow.

* * *

"No." John set his tumbler of Glenlivet down on the table a lot harder than he'd intended. The amber liquid rocked ominously against the sides of the glass, but settled down before any could slosh over the side and mar the spotless tablecloth.

The irony wasn't lost on him that he was echoing the same sentiment that Joss had given him yesterday about joining him on this mission, but he shoved the thought aside. Unlike her, he was going to stick to his guns.

"What? Why not?" she asked, her face a mask of surprise. She'd paused with a spoonful of chocolate mousse halfway to her mouth, but placed the utensil back into the fluted glass bowl as she regarded him curiously. "It's the perfect motive."

His fingers tightened around his glass. "No infidelity."

"What's the big deal?"

He just looked at her, amazed that she truly didn't understand. "You really want to know?"

"No, John, I just like hearing the sound of my own voice."

Despite his best intentions, John couldn't help the tiny smile that snuck onto his face. This was what he'd missed. Their banter. Her quick-wit. That razor-sharp tongue that could so easily cut a person in two, but never failed to make him grin like an idiot.

God, he'd missed this. He'd missed _her._ So much.

It was part of why he'd chosen this restaurant instead of one of their usual haunts. He'd wanted a quiet, classy place where they could catch up without the backdrop of old grease and screaming children getting in the way. And he'd known the second he'd laid eyes on her that he'd made the right decision.

He'd always thought Joss looked good in anything: her police uniform, the subdued pants suits that she wore for work, the no nonsense outfits that she seemed to favor even during her days off. But the sight he was being treated to tonight was nothing short of amazing. She was a vision in a black, one-piece jumpsuit, all curves and golden brown skin and the most beautiful smile he'd ever laid eyes on.

"Well, since you want to know," he said, holding her eyes while he took another sip of his Scotch, "even in a fake marriage, I'd never cheat on you." As confusion started to settle across her features, he shook his head. "Don't bother trying to figure it out."

He didn't elaborate. Hell, he wouldn't be able to explain it to her even if he tried to. He didn't even fully understand it himself. Because there was nothing logical about it. There was no reasonable justification for nixing what would be a rock-solid cover. But as irrational as his feelings were, it didn't make them any less real. His loyalty to Joss meant everything to him. She was one of the few people in this world that cared whether he lived or died, and the thought of not being true to her didn't feel right. Ruse or no, he couldn't imagine a time or a place or a circumstance that would make him betray her.

"All right." She returned her attention to her dessert and took a small bite.

"All right?" he repeated, not bothering to hide his surprise. He'd expected her to press him on it. This was the second time she'd capitulated without a fight.

"Being the mother of a teenager has taught me to pick my battles." He'd barely gotten a chance to breathe a sigh of relief when she continued, "But since you're being so open tonight, how about telling me why you asked me on this mission instead of Zoe Morgan?"

The unexpected question caught him off guard for a moment, and he blinked at her slowly.

"You thought I forgot about that, didn't you?"

John sighed quietly. He thought she'd decided to let that particular line of questioning go, but he should have known better. The answer he'd given her the other day had been purposely vague because the last thing he'd wanted to do was to drag Zoe into the conversation. He still didn't.

All he wanted to do was bask in Joss' beauty and enjoy having her all to himself for a few uninterrupted hours. And so far, it had been fantastic. They'd spent dinner playing catch up, John delighting in Taylor's various adventures as a newly-licensed driver and Joss laughing aloud at his complaints about Shaw and her uncanny knack for driving him nuts. The wide chasm that had opened up between them lately, mostly by his ill-conceived notion to protect Joss for her own good, had shrunk a little. Not as much as he would have liked, but he was more than willing to take whatever she was willing to give him. At least for now.

But Joss clearly had other ideas. She seemed determined to plop the fixer down in between them until she got a satisfactory answer to her question.

"Thought I answered that," he finally said.

"'Because I wanted to?'" She gave him a pointed look. "That isn't much of an answer, John."

"Well, it's the truth."

As simplistic as it sounded, it was. He _wanted_ Joss with him on this one. Not only did they work well together, but she was damn good at what she did. But it was more than that. He missed her plain and simple. He missed her and he wanted to spend time with her. This was the perfect excuse to do it. And given that she'd been avoiding spending an appreciable amount of time with him lately, this was probably the only way it was going to happen. But he wasn't about to tell Joss that.

"So…you saying you didn't want to ask me the last time you needed a fake wife?"

He paused before answering, noting that her question had been voiced a little _too_ casually. Like she didn't want him to think she cared either way, but he could tell that the complete opposite was true.

Interesting.

"I didn't want to be presumptuous." It wasn't the entire truth, but it wasn't a lie either.

"_You_ didn't want to be presumptuous?" Joss tossed back her head and laughed, a joyful sound that made several people turn to look at her and smile. She pushed back the long spill of raven hair that had fallen over her shoulder. "Right."

"I know you find it hard to believe, Joss, but I _am_ capable of self-restraint."

She stuck her spoon back into her mousse and pushed the shallow bowl off to the side. John noted that she still hadn't finished the rich dessert, but apparently this topic trumped even chocolate.

Folding her arms on the table in front of her, she leaned forward slightly, her large brown eyes pinning him to his seat. "Has anyone ever told you that you're an expert at deflecting?"

"Once or twice."

"And there it is." She tilted her head and slid her gaze over him rather triumphantly. "The perfect excuse for therapy." When he raised a brow at her in question, she continued, "My husband always keeps his feelings to himself, and I've finally had enough."

They stared at each other, the silence dragging out between them, heavy and meaningful. The melodic scraping of silverware across delicate porcelain and the soft babble of voices disappeared as her words and their insinuation burrowed under his skin. Fear, clear and sharp, lanced through him. Although he knew he was probably projecting, it felt as if she was making a declaration on the current state of their relationship. But instead of letting his growing apprehension gain purchase, he seized the frustration he'd been nurturing since they'd begun shutting him out.

"And my wife doesn't confide in me anymore." John sat forward, purposely mirroring her posture. "And no matter how much I try to be there for her, she constantly pushes me away."

Joss shifted away from him, sitting back in her chair, and he scored himself a mental point. He knew it was childish, but it felt good to know he wasn't suffering alone.

Jaw set, arms crossed over her chest, Joss was nearly glowering at him. "Well, it seems we have our cover story then."

She didn't sound happy about it.

And if John wanted to be honest with himself, he wasn't sure he was either. In his estimation, this cover was only marginally better than infidelity. When he'd asked her on this mission, he'd been thinking more along the lines of her having a shopping problem or him being a workaholic. Something simple that many couples struggled with. But as usual, when it came to Joss, he'd easily lost control of both himself and the conversation.

For the first time, he wondered if maybe he should've asked Zoe on this assignment after all. The company would be a lot less enjoyable, but at least he'd save himself some mental anguish.


End file.
